The Ruins of Walsingham

Midst the ruins of Walsingham
whom should I choose
But the Queen of Walsingham
To guide my muse?
Then you O Prince of Walsingham
grant me to frame
Bitter laments to rue your wrongs
And bitter woe for your name.

Bitter it was, oh to see
those innocent sheep
murdered by ravaging wolves,
whilst their shepherds did sleep.
Bitter was it to behold
that sacred Vine,
planted by watchful gardeners,
Uprooted by unholy swine.
Bitter, O so bitter was it to behold
The grass to grow
Where the walls of Walsingham
Once so stately did show.

Such were the works of Walsingham
whilst did she stand,
Such are the ruins that now remain
Of that once holy land!
Level, level bare upon the ground
her proud towers do lie
which with their golden glittering tips
once pierced to the sky.
Where proud gates were once, none now,
the ways unknown, and where,
throngs of Peers did pass,
Her fame so widely known.

Owls now screech where sweet
hymns were sung,
Toads & serpents now infest nests
Where palm bearers once thronged.
Weep, weep O Walsingham,
whose days are nights,
your blessings become blasphemies,
And holy deeds turn to disputes.

Sin now where once Our Lady sat,
Heaven now turned to hell, and
Satan sits where Our Lord did reign
Walsingham O Waslingham farewell.